The strings are pulled,
the bow bangs;
"Throb, throb" ... is the sound
of the big bass;
"Badum-tish" ... ran the sticks
onto the metal disc;
The tinklings on the ivories
jingle sweet melodies;
Together we toil, for your joy!

Heads nod ... soles slap floor;
Grooving to the rhythm of our cry.
We're shown no mercy
by the so-called "masters"
yet when we mess, they're losers.
I N S T R U M E N T S !
is what they call us.
Our mission and passion is;
To toil ... for your joy!

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